A Skyrim Story
by JasminSilver
Summary: Follow the path of a young Dunmer Dragonborn as she evolves and matures in the dangerous world of Skyrim.
1. Chapter 1

She was frozen to the bone. The mere act of breathing was rendered painful by the chill of the air and her fingers had gone numb hours ago. The snow she was lain on had melted; freezing her skin in the process and soaking the threadbare rough spun tunic she was wearing. Through the near cold induced coma she was in, she was vaguely aware of the other prisoners. They were all Nords, wearing leather padded chainmail and warm looking blue wool wrapping. Their hands were bound, like hers and their weapons had been taken away, but they did not appeared troubled by that fact. More so, by didn't even seem to be bothered by the paralysing cold. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, whispering jibs and insult to the Imperial soldiers walking about, taking kicks and insults back when their jailors had had enough.

She could remember the events that lead her to this predicament. Though some details were blurry, she could definitely recall the fear. One moment she was minding her own business, desperately trying to light a fire with wet wood to warm herself up when she heard horses neighing, men and woman shouting and swords being drawn. Orders were barked, blows exchanged. She tried to run, tried to escape the ferocious battle when the air itself seemed to boom, sending her flying pell-mell on the soldiers. The last thing she saw before blacking out was a giant of a man being restrained and gagged by four Imperial soldiers. He had been wearing the warmest looking fur cloak she had ever seen. She remembered thinking she would give just about anything just to ball up inside of it and forget about the detestable white curse that was sticking to her clothes.

Her eyes were getting heavier with each passing minutes. She knew that closing them, succumbing to the numbness would be her death sentence, but she couldn't keep on fighting. The shivering had stopped about half an hour ago and she could barely move anymore. She had tried to call for help a few times, but the Imperial had ignored her completely and the nearest blue dressed man had snickered and called her "Damn Elf" and "Milk Drinker" before dragging himself closer to his friends and resuming his hushed dialogue. Maybe closing her eyes only for a few seconds wouldn't be that bad. It would give her the strength to go on. Just a few seconds…

* * *

"Might as well leave her here. She's done for anyways," said a far away voice.

"Who in the Void is she? There are no Elves in the Stormcloak"

"She was with them in the attack, I saw her running with flames in her hands"

"She charged at us!"

* * *

"Ralof! Have you lost your mind?" hissed a female Stormcloak.

"They'll kill you if you try to move" added a man, his gruff voice catching the ear of a nearby Imperial.

"Shut up down there!" barked a heavily armoured Imperial woman. "Nobody moves except when I order it!"

"Talos! She's dying woman!"

"What do you care? She's nothing but an elven beggar." Sneered the imperial woman. "Ashborn as it is!"

"Maybe he's lonely! After all, a woman's a woman." Supplied a laughing imperial soldier.

"Might as well warm her up, or else her corpse will attract wolves. Get a move on will you" ordered the Legate. "The next one caught talking will have his tongue cut out, got it!"

The man named Ralof then got on his knees and half crawled half kneeled toward the elf, falling twice because of the snow and his bound hands. He had not seen Dunmers often in his little village of Riverwood. One or twice, an odd mercenary would pass and stay the night at the Sleeping Giant Inn but that was about it. Even though he had little experience with their people, the blackish hue of her finger, toes, lips and ears could not be good. The white frost coming out of her parted lips was thin and irregular. She was almost dead, but any enemy of the Empire was a friend of the Stormcloak, Greyskin or not. With his bound wrist, hoisting her frail body on his was no menial task. After a few failed attempts, he managed to bring her back to his large chest, sitting her on his leather-covered thighs to protect her from the frozen ground. Slipping his arms over her head and around her waist to secure her in place, he began to untie his blue mantle with his teeth. It wouldn't do much to protect her from the Skyrim winter, but it would keep a little of the heat he was producing and hopefully warm her enough to keep her alive.

* * *

Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak insurgents, was, unbeknownst to his benevolent soldier, watching the complicated procedure. He had first noticed her during the battle; she had been running with a flame alight in her hand. He had assumed she was with the Empire, considering she was not with him. Though, seeing her bound and left to freeze on the unforgiving Skyrim winter ground, he had to admit she was probably not an Imperial sympathizer. Being the leader, he had his man to look out for, so he had turned his attention from her shivering form to them until the Imperial soldiers brought his attention back to her. By then, she had stopped shivering and was seemingly asleep, facing them. He would have called her dead had Ralof not insisted so much on reaching her. He had a hard time seeing what the man hoped to achieve by his actions excepted getting himself killed before his time. He was astonished by Ralof dedication. Even though he fell and was mocked by the Imperials, he kept on going until her slender body was awkwardly secured in his strong one. The man had managed to cover her with his storm cloak and was now rubbing his bound arms around her immobile arms and ribcage while breathing in the crook of her neck. During this little scene, he had had time to study her. She was gray, dark gray with a touch of indigo and her surprisingly white hair was cut short in the most repulsive way, almost like a little boy. Her body was "_merish"_, which for Ulfric meant, "devoid of the generous Nord curves". She looked young, very young and her face had the distinct mer brow, a little more pronounced than the human's yet delicate. She had slightly shallow cheeks despite her young age with full dark lips. Her nose was ever so slightly crooked and a tad larger then the average mer's. Finally, her eyes were closed so he could not see if they were that detestable shade of crimson or any other "merish" tint. He really could no bring himself to feel any pity for such a miserable and weak female, but yet, he could not bring himself to completely not care, though he would never admit to such a thing.

* * *

It had been a very long night for Ralof. He had thought about trying to lie on his side to get a few minutes of sleep, but the woman in his arms would have ended up lying in the snow again. She had begun shivering lightly again, and he could not bring himself to put her back where he had picked her. He had finally managed to get his back to a jagged stone without too much trouble and managed to close his eyes when the Imperials kicked them awake and ordered them to climb back in the wooden carriage they had used to get them this far. He was more than shocked to see his childhood friend, Hadvar, walking up to him. With a contrite expression he lifted the blond man's arms and dragged the woman to a cart. In the process, the blue mantel fell to the snowy ground. Standing up without help, Ralof picked it up. Feeling like he was wasting time, a black haired Imperial nudged him harshly in the back forcing him to drop the woollen piece of cloth to clutch the wooden ledge of the carriage. Climbing in the cart, the Stormcloak caught Hadvar's gaze.

"Please" he said, looking from the blue patch in the snow to the still unconscious woman sprawled on the bench.

Without a word, Hadvar picked the wrap, slapped the snow out of it a few times and draped it on the Dunmer shivering shoulders.

* * *

Ulfric was angry, as usual would many say. The weakling of an elf was, not only still unconscious, but also leaning on his shoulder. In the beginning of the trip, his man, Ralof, had nudged her with his feet to make her fall on the fur-padded shoulder of his leader instead of the hard wooden planks of the carriage. He had hushed an apology to the gagged man, but before the Jarl could understand why, he had a Grayskin breathing softly in his neck. Had she been a Nord, a proud Stormcloak shield maiden, he would have tugged her closer, maybe even nuzzled her hair a bit. If there was something that could compete for Ulfric's love of Skyrim, it was Ulfric's love of a strong Nord woman; the right curves in the right place, a strong body and a will to match his own. The mer, on the other hand, was the extreme opposite; she had next to no curves, a frail looking body and not even enough will to stay awake. Even her breathing was annoying for Talos sake!

The cart had been wobbling and jerking along the cobble stone path for about and hour and a half when he felt a change in the mer breathing. It had gotten deeper and he felt her rubbing her cheek on his cloak. Jerking away at the feeling, he kicked Ralof who had finally fallen asleep.

"You're finally awake!" said the man with a despicable cheer in his voice. They were going to the chopping block, he was almost sure. Could the younger man not see that? "I was beginning to wonder if we had lost you". It would have been such a shame he thought bitterly.

Than a dirty, smelly, brown haired, poor excuse of a Nord started to whine about the unfairness of the situation. How he was a horse thief and had nothing to do with rebel destined for the headsman's axe. Had he not been gagged, Ulfric would have shouted him out of the cart for his spinelessness. Hopefully, the blond man, Ralof (he would have to remember this name for he was a good and loyal soldier), chastised him for his cowardice and told him rightfully that a Nord's last thought should be of home. In the end, it appeared the blond man was conscious of their impending death. He was simply facing it like a true Nord; with pride and strength! He spent a few minutes, thinking about his beloved Skyrim he was about to quit, having not had the time to free her from the Imperial plague. To his greatest disappointment, his meditation was interrupted by a soft voice.

"Where are we going?" said the elf.

She was obviously not used to speaking the Norse tongue for she pronounced it slowly and without the comfortable flow of someone fluent in it.

Ralof, as a true Son of Skyrim answered truthfully and without wavering.

"I don't know, but Sovengard awaits" he was about to add something when the horse thief broke into sobs while the rock walls of Helgen came into view.

* * *

Even though it was neither the time nor place to do so, Ralof had to admit the Dunmer woman was surprisingly pleasing to the eye. Her large white eyes seemed unseeing and were a little unnerving, but he noticed they were following the conversation, always looking at the person speaking. She also had a youthful beauty he had never witness in elves. The few ones he had seen had prominent cheekbones, huge circles and wrinkles below their eyes, receding hairline and thin, dry lips. It was a shame really that he would not have the opportunity to know her better. Her body, even corpse cold, had been pleasant to hold onto.

* * *

Damn the Nine, she was not on the list! He was already feeling bad enough about manhandling the young woman, but her absence from the list brought fire to his conscience, bringing him to question his superior.

"Legate, she's not on the list"

"She goes to the block, with the others!" looking Hadvar in the eyes she added, "Get a move on, I haven't got all day".

Grabbing the dark elf delicate wrists in her iron drip, she dragged her amongst the Stormcloak insurgents, in front of the headsman.

"I'll make sure your remains are sent to Morrowind, elf" said the Imperial soldier, too shaken by Legate Rikke lack of heart.

She was already too far away for him to hear her whispered "it will rot there".

* * *

He would never admit it, but he was proud of the little elf. She walked with her head held high when she was called to the block. Unlike that horse thief, her pants were still piss free and she had not cried or tried to make a run for it. Maybe he had misjudged her after all. Well, it was too late to care; the headsman was already raising his axe.

* * *

Even though she had a bloody axe ready to chop her head off, her gaze was not directed toward the covered face of the headsman. A small part of the mountain seemed to have grown wings and was flying toward the village. Its eyes of burning ambers seemed to look right through her soul. As this creature of nightmare landed on the watchtower making the ground rumble, she stood there, on her knees, unmoving, mesmerized by the creature's call. It was chaos all around her. Stormcloaks and Legionnaire alike were running like scared rabbits. The Legion General barked orders. Very few were followed in the midst of the panic. The black monster was speaking yet she couldn't understand a word of it, than, she felt it again, like the air had taken solid form and was pushing her back. Before she could react, she was knocked down and her vision blurred. Through the commotion, she felt someone lifting her up and dragging her by the back of her shirt. She came through when she felt the relative safety of the strong rock walls around her. Her saviour, the man who had identified himself as Ralof of Riverwood was talking to his leader, the giant of a man who had apparently killed a man with his voice!

"It was a dragon, the legends are true!" said Ralof loudly.

"Legends don't burn down villages", replied Ulfric after taking off his gag and unbinding his strong wrists.

"We need to move," said someone.

"Up that tower" supplied the younger blond man, nudging the dark elf in front of him. Her hands were still bound, but he didn't have time to untie them. It would have to wait until they escaped both the Imperial soldiers and the dragon.

She stopped mid run, making him collide with her back. At the same instant, the tower wall burst open and the sleek black head of the dragon slipped through the opening, washing the stairs in fire. When it had receded, the Stormcloak and the elf came up to have a look at he breach. The way up was a no go, being as there was no more stairs but a pile of rubbles. Ralof motioned for her to jump through the flaming roof of a house down below. She was scared; he could see it in her eyes.

"Are you mad?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"I'll follow you as soon as I can, but you have to jump now before that dragon comes back" he said that while placing his heavy hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze.

She took a laboured breath, closed her moon coloured eyes and jumped. He saw her land roughly on the wooden floor and saw more than heard her pained cry. She escaped from his sight as she went further in the house.

* * *

"Get him to safety" barked Hadvar to a scared villager, pushing a young boy in his arms. From the corner of an eye, he could see the Dunmer prisoner running. How she was still alive in the middle of all this, he couldn't understand. Yet there she was; her steel gray face covered in sooth, sweat and blood. Gods, her hands were still bound! "Stay close to the wall prisoner" her said to her. She had told him his name, but in the middle of all this, he couldn't seem to remember it. It began with an "L" but that was the extent of his knowledge. The dragon was coming back toward them, breathing fire and turning the building to ashes. "Stay close to me prisoner". Honestly, he didn't know what he could do to protect anyone against such an opponent, but he had sworn to protect the subjects of the Empire until his dying breath and as far as he was concerned, she needed the protection. She followed him to the Keep where they were met with Ralof, his childhood friend. Stopping in her tracks, she looked at both man, not knowing which one to follow.

"Prisoner, come with me", pleaded Hadvar. She was wasting time, precious time, which could make the difference between being burnt to a crisp or living to see another day.

"Luthien, follow me" said Ralof, motioning for her to come. He remembered her name from the call earlier. It had been quite exotic among the Norse names being called.

Hearing her name, she looked toward the man, than, with on last glance to Hadvar, she ran toward the blond barbarian just as the dragon was circling back over their heads.

* * *

The Keep seemed safe enough for a quick stop. Anyways, he needed a moment to grasp the situation and the elf needed to be freed from her bindings.

"Let me get your hands untied, than we'll get you some armour", said Ralof briskly looking around him.

Without a word, Luthien held out her arms to him and he proceeded to cut the crude ropes that held her prisoner. They had bit in her flesh, leaving bloody marks on her delicate wrists. Having heard all kind of stories about the Mer and Jarl Ulfric thoughts about them, he was a little surprised to see red blood oozing from her broken skin. He'd half expected her to have tar like blood going by the colour of her skin. He was even more surprised when she balled up her fist, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. The attack he was expecting never came tough. Instead, gold light shimmered in her now open palm and flowed with grace to her wrists and right ankle, mending the flesh. In the field of battle, he had often witnessed the prowess of the Norse healers. Coming from the ashen hands of a Mer though, it was even more magical.

"You're a mage then?"

"No. I know a few simple spells, but I'm no mage"

"Well, grab Gunjar's armour than we need to get moving", said Ralof. He couldn't wait to be out of this place. He had lost his Jarl in the midst of the battle and he hoped to find him safe and sound when they finally made it out.

Luthien stared, blankly at Ralof. "You want me to loot the dead?" she said, flabbergast. He simply replied "He won't need it anymore" before kneeling next to the man and muttering something about Sovengard. He then proceeded to free the armour with the help of the elf. She removed the smaller pieces of equipment like the boots, gloves and belt while he was bodily lifting the corps of his shield brother to remove the leather-covered chainmail. It looked much to large for her but it would protect her a lot better then the half torn tunic she had on at the moment. Hesitantly, she looked at the man who had saved her.

"Would you mind turning around, please?" she might have lived in the streets, wearing nothing but rags but she was not about to give a show to this man, saviour or not.

Ralof gingerly complied. They were not in a safe place; keeping an eye out on each other was the only way to stand a chance of making it out of Helgen. He would have to keep an ear out then, in case Imperials tried to sneak up on them.

* * *

The armour was heavy and broken mails from the killing blow to its previous owner were scraping against her shoulder blade but it would have to do.

"I'm ready, do you know the way?" she asked the tall man.

"No, but I think the outside is out of the question, so this door seem to be the only option".

Unfortunately, the door was locked and could not be picked. To add to their misfortune, two Imperial soldiers were coming their way, talking loudly. Whispering, Ralof ordered the elf to hide "We might take them by surprise" he added. The blond soldier unsheathed his axe, crouching on the left side of the door. Luthien couldn't help to think he looked quite fearsome, his muscled arms holding the weapon at the ready while his eyes were fixed on the door.

Taking his example, she lit both her palms on fire. Her flames might not be as powerful as his axe, but in these closed quarters, it would grant them an advantage. As soon as the Imperial passed the door, they were hit by a wave of flame and the furry of an unleashed barbarian. Unfortunately, the surprise didn't last long and in a few instants, the two escapees had two very angry soldiers aiming to kill them. It became clear very early that the elf had never fought armed soldiers. She was attacking the anatomical weak spots without any consideration for the armour covering them. Soon, she was tossed against the wall by a frustrated legionnaire who then focused his attention on the tall Nord. The legionnaire fell quickly beneath the iron axe, but the female officer proved to be much more of a challenge. She parried every blow, dealing quite a few herself until she managed to knock the axe out of Ralof hand. Trying to reach for the gladius of the fallen man, the Nord took a powerful sword blow to the shoulder. Much of its potency was deflected by the chainmail, but the force of the blow still made him groan and retreat a bit. Seeing her misfortune companion in such bad shape, Luthien ran behind the officer and, lighting her hands once more, applied both flaming palms to the woman face making her scream in agony as she fell to the ground defeated. The dark elf then kneeled beside her companion to ascertain the damage. Lifting the chainmail sleeve despite the protests of the man, she saw a large bruise beginning to form.

"I don't know any healing magicks that works on others but this will help" she said, materializing dancing cold flakes in her right hand. "Please, don't move". Under the scrutinizing glare of the wounded man, she applied her frost-coated hand to the bruised shoulder. The man groaned and tightened his jaw at the contact but did not move. Once she deemed the wound cooled enough, she banished the frost from her palm, looking expectantly at the blue-eyed man. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yes. It's numb. It's much better, thanks." He said, flexing his arm and lightly rotating his shoulder.

She could sense his pride had been hurt, being saved and healed by a weak looking elf so she did not extend her hand to help him up and when he failed to properly lift his axe with his wounded arm, she pretended not to see.

* * *

After defeating the torturer and his sadistic assistant. She managed to acquire a mage's hooded robe and a spell book. Seeing that they were in a relatively safe place she asked her companion to stand watch while she changed and learnt the new spell. The blond man, once more turned around, granting her some privacy while protesting that she could be attacked at anytime if he wasn't looking after her. He was also extremely curious about what she looked like under that armour. He had never seen a Mer woman before but holding her this close all night… Well, he was curious. If they made it out of this mess, he was stopping by the first tavern he could find to get a drink and maybe a few hours in agreeable company. His train of thought was broken by a muffled cry of pain. Unsheathing his sword, he turned toward the woman. There was no enemy, not even a rat in sight. She was simply passing the chainmail over her head, the broken links scraping a bleeding wound on her shoulder. She must not have been disturbed by the noise his blade made, because she didn't turn around. She was wearing the leather pants and boots they had looted on Gunjar. The pants were sitting low on her hips, giving him an excellent view of her hips, waist and back. She crooked her neck to look at the wound on her back, swearing softly in what he assumed was her native tongue when her probing fingers came back soiled with blood. To his surprise, she didn't cast magic on the wound and bent to retrieve the mage robes. His sword tip must have hit the ground then because she turned abruptly toward him, clutching the robes to her chest. She looked scared and her left hand was ready to summon her flames should the need arise. Sheathing his sword, he quickly apologized and turned his back on her. He cursed himself for being so disrespectful. He should have turned around the moment he saw no danger. Had she been scared he would attempt something on her? What kind of man must she think him to be now!

* * *

Shit, she had seen that look before. That mix of lust and need had always been a reliable sign to get the Void away. Living in the streets she had met very shady people, drunken guards, rogue noblemen, and the list kept on going. Except now, she could not get away. That man with the much-feared look was her only way out of this. She would have to be careful, she thought, changing the leather pants for the mage's trousers that were closer to her size. Even the boots were a better fit.

She then proceeded to open the book. She had not seen many spell book in her short time, but they were fairly simple to use. She flipped the pages until she found the incantation, then, placing her hands on both pages, she recited it. Hearing her talking in a strange language, Ralof turned around again. Hopefully, she was fully dressed. What she was doing, he had no idea. He had met very few mages and he had never witness the learning of a new spell. As she read the incantation, little sparks appeared on the paper around her hands; their white light dancing across her fingers and licking her arms without causing apparent pain. After a while, the book suddenly turned to dust, the sparks disappeared and she turned toward him.

" I'm ready", she mumbled, looking at him with a deadly gaze. "How's your arm by the way?"

"It's getting worst, but you don't have to bother yourself with it. Listen I'm sorry for…" said Ralof.

"I'll have a look", she said dryly, cutting him mid sentence.

Without waiting for his answer, she lifted the mail sleeve to find the skin an angry shade of purple and black. Without any notice, she applied her frost-coated hand to his shoulder, putting a little more pressure than was necessary. The Nord grunted low at the pain she was causing him but he didn't lash. He really deserved it…

When she was done, she began walking toward the cell corridor without waiting for him. He faintly heard her mumble, "Apologies accepted" before he lightly jogged to catch up with her.

If Ralof had to be honest, he would say that he was glad Luthien was on his side. They had come across four Imperial soldiers in what looked like a man-made cave. She hadn't hesitated a minute when she saw the shimmering light on the ground and shot flames at it. He remembered thinking for half a second that the girl had finally lost her mind until the floor was on fire, crippling the archers standing on it. After that diversion, it had been a piece of cake to dispatch the enemies still standing and they had made it out of the cave without further injuries.


	2. Chapter 2

They had just emerged from the maze when Luthien fear came true. The strong blond man to whom she owed her life and escape turned on her. His muscled left arm circled her lithe form squeezing hard, pressing her against his large chest and backing her on a boulder while his right came to her face to muffle her. She struggled for a while; conscious it was to no avail. The man was a least twice her weight! I wasn't long until her fear was transformed into another. The black dragon, with ambers eyes, was flying above them. He circled once over their hiding spot, then, roaring, he flew away toward the snow-covered mountains. As soon as the beast was out of sight, Ralof released the small elf.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, concern showing on his face.

The elf was looking at him with suspicious eyes, her arms crossed against her chest. She had been scared, but the man hadn't tried to force himself on her. He had shielded her from the terrible predator that very nearly killed them all. She could not hold it against him.

"Yes, I'm all right, thanks to you", she said, looking at the tip of her boots.

"I don't know what you've been through woman, but I'm not going to jump you the first chance I get. I might not be a refined nobleman but I'm not a beast", he said angrily. Then he mumbled, "Plus, I owe you my life", while kicking gravel on the ground.

"And I owe you mine, Ralof", she said, a grateful smile on her lips.

They stayed like this, looking at their feet, casting fleeting glances to each other until Ralof suggested they went to Riverwood. Luthien agreed, she didn't know what she would find there, but it was better than getting lost in the Skyrim forest.

* * *

Along the way, he showed her tall menhir he called "Standing Stones". To explain their use, he place his hand on the Warrior Stone and a light shot from it. "It grants me an easy learning of the fighting skills", he said, turning to look at her. The light mesmerized her; it was almost comical. Her neck crooked toward the sky, her mouth slightly agape, it seemed she was trying to see where the light went. Chuckling, the tall Nord nudged her toward the Stones. "Come on, choose one", he said with a smile in his voice. When she placed her gray hand on the Thief Stone, he was a little surprised. "You're honest about your occupations!" he said, looking at her suspiciously.

"The Thief kept me alive this long, I'll continue to trust him", she answered.

* * *

A little further on the road, he noticed her interest in the old ruin high in the snowy mountain. "It's called Bleak Falls Barrow, it's an old Nord ruin. A friend of mine and I used to plan to take it when we were kids". Luthien was mesmerized by the old stone ruin. She swore she could her a faint chanting coming from it, calling to her. Her ears were probably playing trick on her. There was no way she could here anything this far away.

* * *

They made it to Riverwood without any further disturbance. The midday sun was shining hard on the thatch woofs giving it a golden hue and bringing out the blue, green and purple of the flora. The kids were running in the street, their laughter echoing in the valley, while the adults were hard at work by the sawing mill, the forge or in the field. The temperature was a lot more clement than in Helgen and Luthien felt a smile blossom on her lips. Maybe she stood a chance in that province after all. For his part, Ralof was smiling widely, waving his uninjured arm in the air to a strong blond woman in the sawmill.

"That's my sister, Gerdur, she owns the mill", he explained, still smiling. "Come on, I'm sure she'll want to meet you".

She looked at him in doubt, but he was already running toward the woman. The two hugged for a while, Ralof lifting Gerdur despite her protests. After a while though, he put her down, looking around him to locate his newfound friend. She was standing on his right, politely behind him, her shoulder bowed and her crossed arms nervously clutching her robes.

"This is Luthien, we escaped together", he said introducing her, "I wouldn't have made it without her", he added, looking kindly at her, motioning for her to come closer. As soon as she was next to him, Gerdur grabbed her in a bone-cracking hug, making her squeal in surprise. Sensing her discomfort, her companion placed a hand on his sister's arm.

"Be careful sister, she's not built like a Nord!"

The woman loosened her grip, apologizing at the same time. "I'm simply so happy to see him! Thank you so much." After that, she invited them both in her house, leaving her husband, Hod, a strong build blond man with an impressive moustache, in charge of the mill. Having seen his uncle Ralof, Frodnar came running after then asking if he had met Ulfric Stormcloak and if he had killed any Imperial. At the mention of Imperial, Ralof's face lost it's cheerfulness.

"Hadvar was with them", he said in half tone to his sister.

"Frodnar, go watch the road for Imperials", she said to her son. "Come running if you see any, got it?"

Smiling at the crucial role he had been given, Frodnar started to run toward the street. "Don't worry Uncle Ralof, I won't let any of them sneak up on you!" And with that, he was out of earshot.

"Are you sure?" she then asked her brother, worried.

"Yes, there was no mistake possible" he answered, avoiding the mention of the headsman.

Having stayed mute until then, Luthien asked, "Who was he?"

It was Gerdur who answered, "Ralof and him were friends when they were kids. Always together those two. He left to enlist shortly after my brother. I always thought he had joined the Stormcloak…" she seemed to take a few moments to think, "Though it is true we do not discuss politic so much here in the village".

"An Imperial kept me safe during the attack", the elf said, looking at the tall man beside her.

"That was Hadvar. She made sure you didn't freeze to death in that wagon. He wrapped you up in my cloak. He might be a traitor to his land, but he's still more or less decent" he finished, clearly wanting to change the subject.

They had made it into the house by that time. I was a simple thatched house but it was warm and smelled good of soup and roasted meat.

"There was a dragon in Helgen", said Luthien, sensing her companion discomfort.

"A dragon! Then Hilde wasn't going mad". She sat down to think it over. "The Jarl has to be warned! Riverwood is defenceless. We need more guards!" she pleaded looking at Luthien and her brother.

Ralof seemed ashamed when he answered, "You know me Gerdur, I would go in a heartbeat, but I fear it will bring trouble to the village. To you."

"I'll go, though I do not know the way…"

They both turned to look at the dark elf. She was still standing next to the door, unsure if she was really allowed to enter the house. She looked very uncomfortable. Ralof walked to her "You need to rest first. The cold nearly killed you last night and you haven't eaten in two days!"

"The dragon won't wait for us to be ready", she told him. She was trying to be logical, but he could clearly see she was about to fall over from exertion. "Gerdur, can she stay here for the night?" he nearly begged his sister. "Of course, that goes without saying! You saved my brother Luthien, help yourself to anything you need, really!"

The moon white eyes opened widely in shock. She had never been so warmly greeted. Living in the streets, begging for food, she was used to be treated like pest. Looking at Ralof for confirmation she was motioned toward the table and a large bowl of meat broth Gerdur had served. Sitting beside her, the blue-eyed man said "You can have my bed tonight, I'll sleep in my nest in the attic". She was about to retort, but he frowned and she slowly nodded, thanking him.

Once they were done eating, Gerdur brought her a knapsack and a cape.

"I packed a few essential like food, clothes and a few healing potions should your journey prove eventful. I added a cloak too. You seem like you could use it".

After thanking the woman profusely, she went to the bed Ralof had shown her. Only removing the outer robe and hood, she fell asleep as her head touched the feather pillow.

* * *

A scream woke him in the middle of the night. He climbed down the ladder, jumping the last steps and ran to the source of the noise. Luthien was sitting in the bed, clutching the covers like her life depended on it. Tears were running freely on her ashen cheeks and sobs shook her shoulders.

"Luthien, what happened" asked Ralof, worried.

She answered him through sobs "I saw… I saw Him. The dragon… He was in my… head. Telling me I was going to die… Ralof, I'm scared", she whispered.

Gerdur and Hod had been startled by the scream, but seeing the blond man sitting on the bed, talking to the elf, they went back to sleep. Frodnar was still sound asleep, his nose in Stump's fur.

"It was a nightmare little elf", he whispered in his deep voice, running a hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. "He can't get to you here".

"Ralof, it seemed so real!" she whispered, panic rising in her voice. "His eyes… they were burning me". She was now clutching his shirt, bringing her head to his chest. She could feel his slow heartbeat, his ribcage expanding with each breath he took. Her eyes seemed clouded as she spoke, like she was seeing her dream all over again. "I was in a field, I could hear water falling. There is mist all around me and I'm screaming at it to go away, but it always comes back. I can see his eyes, burning in the mist but I can't see him, I can't move. He tells me it's over, that I'm already dead". Her voice was but the tiniest whisper now. Even in the silence of the night, he could barely hear her. "It's over now. Go back to sleep", he told her, trying to unclasp her hands from his shirt so he could go back to his much needed sleep. "Stay", she begged him, nearly ripping the threadbare shirt in her attempt to keep him close. When he agreed, she moved away to allow him to lay beside her. He was so bulky she had to rest her head on his chest and a leg over his calf to keep from falling to the ground. Unsure of what to do, he passed an arm around her and rested his chin on top of her head, his hand caressing her short soft white hair. Taking a shaking breath, she closed her eyes, the last warm salty drops falling on his shirt. She looked so fragile, laying in his arms like this. He felt strangely responsible of her, like the trust she put in him bounded him to her. Her breath was now a little quicker, shallower. She was asleep but he did not move. Instead, he caressed her face with the tip of his fingers like if he wanted to memorize it. His thumb ran from the lobe of her gray ear to the delicate pointy tip and she gasped in her sleep, her leg grip tightening around his calf, bringing her even closer to him. The strong reaction to such a small gesture took him by surprise. Curious, he did it again eliciting the same reaction. Through the light fabric of her robe, he could even feel her nipples hardening. Feeling like he was taking advantage of her vulnerability, he took his had away from her sensible ear, placed it on her shoulder and closes his eyes, trying to forget how her reaction to his caress had affected him.

* * *

He woke early the next morning to find her still asleep half on him, half on the little part of the bed his impressive size left her with. He could feel a telltale tightness in his breeches and decide to get a quick dip in the cold river before he could embarrass himself and no doubt scare the Void out of her. For someone as jumpy as her, she surely slept tightly, he observed as he slipped unnoticed out of the house.

* * *

When she woke, she was alone in the house. A plate with bread, cheese and an apple sat on the bed stand. The sight of food reminding her of her hunger and she devoured the content of the plate before getting out of the house. She picked the knapsack and the cape and tried to find Ralof. He had done more for her in two days than every other person she had met in her twenty years of life. Her mother had been a Skooma user and had cared more for her next fix than her daughter. She had grown in a derelict shack on the Waterfront of the Imperial city and been raised by it's other inhabitants. When she had been old enough, she had done a few odd jobs for a handful of coins for a man in hooded leather armour. She had even spent a few days in jail once after one of her hit proved to be more complex than she had thought. As a kid, she had always envied the large boats that rested a few days in the port before going back on their endless journey, so, one day, she had hopped in a crate and thus boarded a tall ship sailing for Skyrim. Of course the journey had been longer than she had hoped and she had been discovered. She had earned her keep doing menial jobs and occasionally sharing the captain's quarters preventing her from being thrown overboard.

She had arrived in the middle of a snowfall. Lost and freezing, she had spent a few days hidden in a stable before trying to get away from that white hell. She had walked south for days, but having no maps, she was going in blindly. She had just passed the small city of Falkreath when she was taken prisoner.

* * *

She followed the noise of the sawmill and voices until she found them. Ralof had traded his armour for a plain linen tunic like Hod and was lifting a huge tree trunk in the mill despite his bruised shoulder. Once he was done, he signalled to Gerdur he was taking a break and jogged toward Luthien.

"Already ready to go, are you?" he said, smiling sadly.

"Well, the jarl as to me warned, doesn't it" she said, unsure.

"I'll show you the way then, follow me"

They walked in silence until they reached the village gate.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye then" said Ralof, looking at the ground.

"Yes", breathed the elf.

"You simply follow the road, it'll lead you right to the city" added the blond man.

They stayed a little longer facing each other, neither knowing what to say but still wishing they could say more. Finally, the Nord extended his hand toward the small woman. "May Talos watch over you" were his last words has she shook his hand and started to walk on the path.

* * *

She had walked maybe a hundred steps when she turned back and looked at the man, still watching her beneath the arch of the watch wall. Feeling a little stupid for doing so, she ran toward him. She could see him smile as she came closer.

"Back already!" he joked, giving her a lopsided grin.

"Ralof, what's a jarl?" she asked looking at him with an uncertain face.

He broke in laughter, her surprised face making him laugh even more.

"You really are something little one!" he told her as he recovered. "Ready to risk your life for a village you barely know yet going in blind!"

"You have all been so kind to me. It's the least I can do!" she answered earnestly.

"A Jarl is the leader of a Hold. The Jarl of Whiterun, the one you need to talk to, lives in Dragonreach, a palace on top of the city." She saw her anguish at the mention of dragons. "You need not worry, it was named after a dragon was held prisoner and defeated in it's hall, you won't meet any live one there". As he said that, he truly wished it to be true. In truth, there was no certainty she wouldn't encounter the black nightmare from Helgen again.

This time, she hugged him, her lithe arms circling his heavy ribcage. He was a little stunned at first but quickly hugged her back, placing a light kiss on her silky head. His lips millimetres away from her hair he whispered, "Be safe and come back to me Luthien". She nodded lightly against his chest. Lifting herself on tiptoes she placed a warm kiss on his cheek, the blond stubble scraping pleasantly on her lips. "Thanks for everything Ralof" she told him while letting go of her hold on him. In turn, he begrudgingly let his arms fall back at his side, allowing her to leave, yet again, on the path to Whiterun.

* * *

The trip was relatively eventless. She me one lone wolf who had planned to make a meal out of her, but a few flames on his truffle had him fleeting toward the woods in no time. She also met a Stormcloak soldier being escorted to the city by Legionnaires. Even though she wanted to help him run, she opted against it. She had the safety of a whole village on her shoulder and she was determined not to let them down.

She could see the city from where she stood. It was terribly small compared to the Imperial city she had grown in. The walls were made out of crude stone and wood that wouldn't do much to keep a dragon at bay and the "palace" Ralof had talked about looked more like a tall house. Her contemplation has broken by the sound of combat ahead. Once again, she was planning on walking quietly by to avoid being noticed when she heard a ferocious yell. Minutely forgetting her responsibility, she ran toward the noise, expecting to find a lifeless body. Instead, she was met with three combatants, the tallest man she had even seen and two women, fighting what she could only qualify as a giant. The beast was wielding a crude hammer made out of an entire tree and a stone as large as his head if not more. The hammer was about to crash on the tall black haired man when she let a column of fire leave her palm to make contact with the eyes of the abomination. Screaming in pain and momentarily distracted, the giant wobbled on his feet. The warriors didn't waste a second of that precious time and attacked his legs and neck until it fell to the ground in a cloud of dust, dead. She was about to walk away when on of the woman, wearing what look more like a tavern wench's dress than an armour called her back "Hey you, yes, you, the mage, come over here". Looking at the woman suspiciously she approached. "You handled yourself well here. You should think about joining the Companions". Whishing she could avoid the attention, Luthien thanked the woman and jogged toward the city. Unfortunately, the warriors were going in the same direction and quickly caught up with her. "I'm Farkas," said the huge man. If she had thought Ralof was tall, he looked more than average beside Farkas who towered a good two heads over her. "Pleasure, I'm Luthien", she said fearing that she would anger him by staying silent. "Don't listen to the Ice Brain, I'm Ria and she's Aela". Even though she wished the imperial woman had never begun talking, she let her. After all, she was a warrior. The woman talked about her fights against wolves, bears, necromancer, trolls and sabercats. Each time the man named Farkas wanted to join, she made a comment belittling his intelligence and continued on talking. Getting quickly tired of her rambling and mean comments, she excused herself, consequences be damned, and began talking with Farkas. It soon became clear that he was not the most brilliant fellow but he appeared to be extremely loyal to his twin brother, about whom he talked in the highest terms.

When they arrived to the city gates, the guards tried to hold her out, stating that the city was closed to outsiders. He quickly changed his mind, going as far as apologizing when the huge man said with his most ferocious snarl "She's with us, move along". As soon as the guard had resumed his post and opened the gate, Farkas winked at her, giving her a boyish small. "I like messing with the guards. Don't go making trouble about though or I'll have to bludgeon you," he added very seriously. They parted ways near a large dead tree and she began climbing the stairs toward Dragonsreach.

* * *

A sword tip to the throat by a Dunmer woman who took the safety of the Jarl very seriously greeted her. She refused to even let her speak to the man until the Jarl himself ordered her to let her through. Sheathing her sword but keeping an eye on her she stepped aside, allowing the newcomer to pass.

"You claim to bring news from Riverwood then?" said the Jarl looking at her from his throne. "Speak".

" Gerdur from Riverwood asks for protection for her village against a dragon".

" A dragon. Is that so."

" It was huge and black and it was last seen flying in this direction" said Luthien, eyes wide with fear.

"My Jarl" interjected a bald Nord with a painted face. "We cannot send troops to Riverwood! It will be perceived as an attack by Falkreath".

"Riverwood cannot remain unprotected, please Jarl, they are good people" pleaded the elf. She would do whatever was needed to insure Gerdur, Hod, Frodnar and most of all Ralof, were not forced to face the black dragon on their own.

" Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once!" Said the man on the throne with a commanding voice that rand through the hall.

Bowing toward her Jarl, the menacing Dunmer woman exited the room to carry out the order of her leader.

Bowing in turn, Luthien thanked the old Jarl for the help he was sending to her friends. Just as she was thinking that she could accompany the soldiers to Riverwood to meet with Ralof again, the Jarl spoke.

" You have proven yourself reliable, I might have another matter for you to look into".

Feeling like she owed the man, she agreed.

"My court wizard, Farengar, is investigating this Dragon problem, you can talk to him for further information" and with that, she was dismissed.

* * *

She found the wizard bowing over an enchanting table. Not wishing to interrupt him, she chose to stand next to his desk until he acknowledged her. Her courtesy was completely wasted as he turned out to be a rude and unpleasant sort, asking her to go readily to her death on the vague rumour of a stone buried deep within a ruin. She remembered Bleak Falls Barrow from her trip with Ralof. She had felt the ruin call to her and had no wish to visit it. Knowing that she had little choice in the matter, being asked by the Jarl and all, she asked him for directions to the place. His answer had her wishing she could knock him over like the dragon had done to her. Maybe it would scare some respect in the man! He had said that she should go to the "worthless" village of Riverwood and ask one of the pathetic people living there for information. He had much more pressing matters to attend and very little time to deal with the likes of her.

She walked out of Dragonsreach fuming. Her frustration must have shown on her face for on of the guard asked, " Oh, let me guess, someone stole your sweet roll!" His colleague erupted with laugher as she turned to face the man and gave him her most angry glare. She realized on her way to Riverwood that the two tall Nords must have though her quite cute and pathetic, trying to impress them, glaring at them with seemingly blind eyes, nearly tiptoeing to be able to look them in the eyes.

She had left Riverwood around noon of the same day and she was now coming back as glowing embers disappeared in the East. In one miserable day, she had managed to look like a lunatic in front of her saviour, nearly lose her head to an overzealous bodyguard, met the most pedantic man she had ever met and be mocked by guards. She had just survived a dragon attack yesterday and was about to delve in a possibly haunted ruin tomorrow. Her life was really changing from bad to worst… On the bright side, she thought, her newly appointed mission would give her a reason to meet with Ralof sooner than expected. Actually, she was thinking about asking the man to come with her. She was not a coward, but neither was she ready to die to fetch a "might be there" stone for a rude wizard, debt to the Jarl or not. Maybe, if they managed to get through the ruin he would hold her against him like last night. Maybe he would whisper in her hear like this morning and make her shiver even in the mild climate of the Whiterun Hold. Maybe next time she would kiss him a little less on the cheek, a little more on the lips.

* * *

Upon her arrival, she was a lot merrier than she had left Whiterun and Riverwood was as beautiful as she had left it. The mill was turning relentlessly, pushed by the steady steam. The town folk were gathering near the Inn to share a drink together to a hard day of work. Sven was composing odes for his sweetheart the beautiful Camilla while Faendal was walking around, displaying three rabbits and a fox, the fruit of his hunt, making sure this very same lady was aware of his prowess. Frodnar was bragging about his last trick to his father, Luthien overheard something about nailing a coin to someone's doorstep, though she was to far to understand anymore, it brought a smile to her face. Gerdur, for her part, was trying to look stern as her son and husband laughed. Life was going on except for one thing; she could not see Ralof. Deciding she had walked enough for one day, she chose to ask Gerdur right away instead of walking aimlessly in the village, hoping to find the man. She was greeted with a warm hug from the blond woman and many thanks from the villager as she approached. The guards had arrived about an hour and a half before her in town. After being toasted to a few times and being bought a few bottle of mead, she managed to talk to her saviour's sister.

"Say Gerdur, have you seen Ralof? I can't seem to find him."

"Oh dear", said the woman. "He left a little after you did. He went back to Windhelm, to fight for Skyrim".


	3. Chapter 3

Hello readers!

I'm terribly sorry for the delayed up-date! I hope you enjoy the story none the less. Let me know what you think please =) Suggestions are always welcome ;)

* * *

The tiny ice flakes were making it hard for her to see where she was going. The snowstorm had been raging since she began walking on the path toward Bleak Falls Barrow. Gerdur had given her a pair of gloves to go with the cape and boots but it was barely enough to keep the cold at bay. Her cheeks and nose were ruby red and the sharp snowflakes were sending a needle like pain through her every time they made contact with the cold flesh. She had tried to wrap a cloth around her face in the beginning but the breath had crystallized on it making it extremely uncomfortable. Through her nearly closed eyes, she could see a black shape ahead of her. "Finally" she protested between her clacking teeth, "Let's hope it's warmer inside!"

Through the wind scream, she didn't hear the arrow whistling past her and the warning shout to back of if she favoured her life. Thus, to say she was surprised when a large Orc came running toward her, claymore in hand, was an understatement. She had taken a few moments to gaze toward Riverwood, hoping to see a little of what she could nearly call home in this hostile land. The Orc bandit, though, had the habit to roar at the top of his lung while charging at an enemy. That habit of him was the only thing except pure dumb luck that could explain how Luthien had managed to keep her head attached to her shoulders. To the last moment, she dived face first in the snow and managed to evade the deadly iron blade. As strong as the Orc was though, his weapon was still incredibly heavy and relatively slow to manipulate. He was clearly the kind of warrior who expects his opponent to either run away in fear or crumble beneath his first blow. As imposing and threatening as he might have looked, he possessed neither the skill nor strength of Farkas, Aela or even Ria.

While the brute was lifting his sword from the snowy ground where its blade was imbedded, the lithe elf side rolled away from him and called ice to her palms. It had nothing to do with the light frost she had used on Ralof's shoulder. It was it's raw form: a torrent of ice shards, snowflakes and blood freezing wind. Recalling her night in Imperial custody, she aimed at the Orsimer's hands. She had limited magicka and could not hold the spell for long but in the harsh climate of Skyrim, it took only a little cold to weaken her assailant's hold on the deadly sword handle and force him to drop it. The look of utter surprise on the bandit face was almost comical as she realized such a delicate looking woman had bested him. Desperate to end the fight, Luthien unsheathed the little steel dagger, a parting gift from Frodnar, from her belt and plunged it the moss green throat in front of her. The pouring warm blood smoked in the freezing air and drizzled on her gloves, cape and face as the man fought to breathe despite his severed trachea.

* * *

Being born in the slum that was the Imperial City Waterfront, she had been faced with death, both violent and peaceful, quite early in her life. Even though she had seen a few rebels' executions on The Eight's Plaza, formerly known as Talos Plaza, she had never been the one to end a life. The beggars and ruffians she had been raised with had always insisted that no matter how dire the circumstances, you never killed on a job. Until now, she had always abided by that rule so it came to her as a shock that death took time. From the moment her dagger cut through the cartilage, the man had clutched her hand, trying to hold the weapon in place to seal the hole, then pressed desperately on the wound to keep the blood from pouring out, coughed and gurgled on the white snow, a carmine aureole growing around his head. She had stayed motionless beside him until an arrow embedded itself mere centimetres from her feet. Calling the ice to her palms once more, she searched the snowstorm for a moving shadow, any hint that her attacker was in sight. Having never studied the Arcane Arts, she knew she would have to get close to the man to kill him. She had never had the coins to buy a spell book and the mages' shops were always a huge fear of her. Who could be a hundred percent sure they had brought forth deadras and atronach from Oblivion itself to protect their property?

"Time to die, hero" screeched the archer running toward her, a dagger in his hand.

Obviously, there was a good reason this little gang had decided to build their camp on a Gods forsaken ruin instead of a large road; they were not the brightest kind. Thanking the Thief, she shot ice and cold toward the running man. For a moment, his eyes widen in surprise than he rolled on the side to get away from the blood freezing cold. He was a lot more agile than his brother in crime and Luthien thought, a much dangerous opponent. He was moving quickly around her, his red eyes alight with malice, and his dagger taking jabs at her. The bandit was a Dunmer like her so the use of fire was definitely a waste of magicka. He was too quick to be bothered much by the cold. She needed something as quick as him. Lightning, she thought. She had found the old tome in the torture chambers in Helgen while escaping with Ralof. Fortunately, or unfortunately in this case, she had never had an opportunity to use it. Learning a new spell was a lot like swinging a sword, it was exhausting the first few times than it got easier and more deadly with each try. Calling upon the lighting energy, she casted it toward the dagger. The sizzling light made contact with the metal in a white flash causing the bandit to scream in pain and let go of his weapon. He tried to switch back to his bow but the little woman tackled him to the ground before he could reach it. She stabbed him until she stopped moving and continued afterward until her arms were to heavy to lift. Gasping and gagging she removed the blood soaked gloves and cape and threw them to the ground. She was freezing but at least she couldn't smell the viscous blood were ever she turned her head. She ran toward the flight of stairs and was met at the top by a huge Nord with a war hammer. A look of resignation on her face, she backed slowly toward the cliff side of the Barrow's esplanade until she could go no further. The barbarian man was walking slowly toward her a vicious grin on his face.

"I'm gonna smash that disgraceful face of yours Elf and I'm gonna have so much fun" she said in a low voice, sending shivers of fear through her.

Maybe she could jump down the cliff. Maybe she would survive. She was too tired to try to run away, too tired to fight. She was not the right woman for the job; she could not save Riverwood from the dragon. She was just a miserable thief refugee about to be smashed in a pathetic try to play hero.

The man was raising his hammer, taking a step back to build up some momentum, not that it would take much to break her frail bones. She was looking at him with resignation when for some unknown reason she was compelled to drop to the ground just has he brought the massive weapon down. He had expected to encounter resistance at some point in his swing but the skull he was aiming for was not where it was supposed to be. Unbalanced, he fell forward, his feet hitting the little elf body as he tried to stabilized himself by taking a step forward. Balled up on the frozen stone floor, she heard a scream, a matte noise then noting. There was only she and the sound of the wind tearing itself on the old stone pillars and sharp mountain peaks. She took a moment to look around, then, seeing no one else, she ran toward what appeared to be a huge cast-iron door. Up close, she could see geometrical patterns on it; it was a piece of art in itself. Taking hold of the large door handle with both hands, she pulled with all of her remaining strength on it. The door gave in easily for such a heavy weight and she quickly slipped inside.

* * *

It was surprisingly warm inside. Not Riverwood warm but it was not freezing like outside. The heavy stonewalls, carved in the very mountain, were doing a good job keeping the snow and ice outside. She could even see mushroom growing on the cavern floor. Sighing, she dropped to the dirt floor. She was about to make herself comfortable when she noticed skeevers walking about. She could count three alive. One out of them seemed to be sick and was covered in rotting lesions.

"Ataxia" she thought. It was a terrible disease, especially for a thief as it sapped the affected person fine motor skills, making it incredibly hard to properly hold and manoeuvre a lockpick or pick a pocket. She had heard about desperate thieves killed because of it and even more desperate one killing for a cure disease potion. She would have to be careful in dealing with this one.

Further away, near a tunnel, she could see the sleeping form of two more bandits. She must have been terribly distracted when she first entered the room to overlook such important information. Hopefully, she was naturally discreet which explained why neither the skeevers nor the bandits had taken notice of her presence. Magic would not save her this time; she would have to either sneak past three skeevers, which was not a menial task, and two sleeping bandits. Unsheathing the dagger and clutching it in her shaking hand, she began her walk. Her senses heighten when she was on a job and this was not very different. She could her the skeevers' claws clicking and scrapping on the rock floor as they walked. She could hear her own breathing and heart beating as if she was alone in the dark. Even the light snoring of the sleeping bodies was perceived by her overly attentive ears. The first skeever she snuck upon was caught by surprise. It didn't even squeal as the blade slit its throat. She was on her way to the sick one when bits of gravel crunched beneath her feet. She froze instantly, listening carefully for any changes in the bandits breathing patterns or for any sign of acknowledgment from the skeevers. The oversized rats hissed at each other but did not make a move toward her. Thanking the Thief once more, she continued her walk. She thighs muscles were on fire from crouching like this after the long climb but she dismissed it. She could allow herself to be tired when she made it to safety but for the moment, she needed to live long enough to reach that. Sidestepping to the left, she made a curve to avoid the ill looking skeever and pounced on the unsuspecting one. "Two down, three to go" she thought grimly, continuing her way toward the sleepers.

She was about to bring her dagger to the sleeping man's throat when a doubt seized her. They hadn't attacked her; they were sound asleep. They were no threat at all and she was about to end their lives. Beneath its snow, its beautiful villages and kind people, Skyrim was changing her in a way she began to dread; Who could know how far it would lead her? She was not innocent, not by any stretch of imagination, but she had never killed in cold blood before. She kneeled beside the man, raising her dagger above his naked chest and stuck, ending the line of thought. After all, what was a bandit's life compared to the safety of the nice people of Riverwood?

The blow was miscalculated though and the dagger didn't quite pierce the heat giving a few second to the man to scream in surprise. The woman sleeping beside him was instantly awake. Grabbing a short sword, she was upon Luthien in a flash. "You are going to pay for your crime Elf!" she screamed slamming the sword in the ground were the little Dunmer was moment before. The lithe Mer had been so scared by the scream of the man she had forgot the dagger in his chest. With the enraged woman trying to dice her up, there was no way to retrieve it from the bones, let alone reach it. From the corner of her eye, she could see the sick skeever skipping to join the fight. Bringing fire to her palms, she called in her native tongue "Ancestors, I call to you in my time of need, hear my plea and grand me your protection". The bandit woman was about to retort when a cloak of fire appeared, covering her opponent in blazing flames. The oversized rat that was about to take a bite of tasty looking black flesh got his whiskers burnt instantly. His retreat was too slow and his rotten fur caught fire a few moments later. Luthien could see the bandit's fear in her eyes; clearly, she was not accustomed to magic. Using her opponent hesitation to her advantage, she allowed the flames in her palms to flow toward the woman. She was wearing a fur armour with metal plates in strategic places but it did very little to protect her from the inferno that rained on her. She managed to land a harsh blow on the Elf's arm before the fur on her clothes caught on fire.

* * *

Even if she lived a thousand years, Luthien would never be able to forget the gut-wrenching scream of the burning woman. How she wished Ralof had been there; He would have killed her quickly with a powerful thrust of his sword, with mercy. Her arm hurt something fierce and she couldn't think of moving before fixing it. The gash was deep and bleeding profusely. Luthien had never endured such a wound and had certainly never attempted to heal one! She was tempted to use on of the precious healing potion Gerdur had given her but decided against it. He had enough Magicka to cast a healing spell and there cold come a day when she wouldn't. Turning her attention on the flesh, she visualised the repair needed then, summoning the golden glow in her hand, she channelled it to her arm. As always, the glow numbed the area and tingled her flesh along the way. She could feel her energy depleting quickly and the wound closing slower than expected. It would have to do, she thought grimly. She could not afford to be caught by a bandit with her magicka depleted, her skills with a dagger would do very little to protect her against her foes.

* * *

She had come running to the little man! Damn that thief to the deepest pit of Oblivion! She had risked her life to free him from that monstrous spider and he went running ahead of her with the promised prize. Not only had he attempted to cheat her, but he had caused such a ruckus he had awakened the dead! The shambling mummified corpse had nearly caused her heart to stop. Its -she refused to give it a human status- glowing blue eyes had located her abnormally quickly and despite its advanced state of decay, it had run toward her wielding an old black sword. Fire was her favourite magical element; it came naturally to her unlike ice or even worse, storm. She casted long rays of fire toward the running corpse, backing away as it came closer. It felt like an eternity before her heard the sound of snapping articulations and saw the broken monster fall pell-mell on the tomb floor. She dealt with the remaining two in a similar fashion, shooting flames until the parchment-like skin caught on fire alternating with pauses to allow the magical energy to replenish in her body.

To her utter disgust, she had to rummage through the nasty little Dunmer thief to retrieve the "Dragon Claw" he had promised her. She cursed herself for cutting him down before asking for information on how to use it. She had pocketed a few Septims when she found a little journal inside the Mer's bag. She opened it and closed it quickly in dismay. It was written in Norse tongue! That traitorous Dunmer couldn't have written it in Dunmeri! It would take her hours to decipher the few pages. Cursing in her native tongue, she stored the little leather bound book in her bag and continued forward hoping to find a safer place to read than a tomb full of waking dead bodies.

She discovered soon that not all corpses rose from the dead. The one who did had an unnatural shine like time had passed a lot slower for them than the rest. She learned to spot them before they spotted her and set them ablaze before they had a chance to open their entranced dead eyes. After what seemed like hours she finally arrived to a large corridor carved in black stone. She could see an immense stone disc at the end of it. As she got closer, she could see it was made of four concentric circles. The middle one was small with little holes carved in it. The first on had a moth carved in it, then the one above a bear and the one above an owl. She was tired, exhausted even. She had killed in a few hours more than she had even thought possible. She had murdered in cold blood. She had been tricked and she had nearly died a few times. And now, she was stuck in from of what seemed to be a huge puzzle without a clue about what to do with it. Despair caught up to her and she curled it a little ball at the bottom of the giant stone enigma and allowed herself to cry. " Ralof" she called between sobs, "I can't …do this alone… I need you". Of course the kind strong man could have helped her. He could have helped her with the killing, he would have protected her against the dead like he had from the dragon, and he would have caught the nasty thief and forced him to explain everything he knew about this despicable place. He would read the journal to her with his deep calming voice and he would solve the puzzle. He would be the hero Riverwood needed, not her, but he wasn't here; She was alone.

* * *

She woke up a few hours later with dried tears staining her ashen cheeks and clutching her steel dagger. The sleep ad done her some good and lifted her spirit. Sighing harshly in determination, she grabbed the thief journal and began her reading. At least, she recognised most of the letters, which meant she could enunciate most of the word almost correctly with enough concentration. Apparently the Claw held power. It said something about a decoration, which didn't seem relevant. It was also a key and apparently the claw in her palms was the solution. With that knowledge, she took the claw from her bag and carefully placed it on the floor in front of her. If it held power she could take no chances as magic tended to be dangerous. She examined it for a while, avoiding direct contact as much as possible. On the palm part of the claw, she could see engraving quite similar to those on the stone circles. Unfortunately, they were in the wrong order. Maybe the thief had been wrong. Maybe the claw was the solution to another puzzle. Maybe she would have to go back through the tombs. Shuddering at the idea, she stood up to examine the engraving on the stone circle. Each concentric circle was separated from the next by a deep gouge. Like they were carved from different pieces. They also seemed to vanish in the base of the circle, which, it seemed, was also carved from a different block of stone. She tried to press the engraved moth on the lower circle. Much to her surprised, it moved! Not much, but she could feel the stone give a little like it was meant to be mobilised. Following the curve of the circle, she pushed the moth to the left. The stone circled moved slowly, grinding against the middle one, and revealed an engraved bear. She very nearly cried out in relief when the animal sculpted on the wall aligned exactly like the one on the claw. To her dismay though, the puzzle didn't seemed to be quite solved yet for nothing seemed to happen. That was until she noticed for the second time the little holes in the circle hub. Testing a theory, the applied the claw in the asperity and pushed it all the way in as it fitted. Taking example from the other circles, she nudged it to the left. Dust rose from the puzzle as the stone discs rotated around the hub, aligning the bears together. Luthien barely had time to pull the claw free before the heavy contraption began to lower in the ground. She coughed a few times, attempting to muffle it in her sleeve, until another corridor was revealed behind what proved to be most elaborate locked door she had ever opened. As the dust settled, she could see a large natural cave with a little stream crossing it. She could also hear an unnatural chanting coming from what seemed to be a huge stonewall. She approached, entranced. It was a funny and quite scary thing actually. She knew she ought to be careful as she was still in a tomb were the dead could rise in a moment notice yet she couldn't seem to slow her ascension. As she came closer, she could feel her sight darkening. Could night fall in a cave, she thought? A rune on the wall seemed to have swallowed all the light there was in the room. She could clearly see it, shining a bright blue as everything went dark around her. The chanting was deafening now, as if a glorious hero was returning home, and the light turned white and passed through her making her fall to her knee.

The light returned slowly and choir fell silent. That's when she heard it. : The telltale deep "clop" of a stone coffin being pushed open from the inside. Despite her weakened state, she summoned the flames in her palms. Once more, she would have to dislocate the dead with fire. She was about to shoot flames to the cadaver when she heard it, the strong voice that seemed to come from times immemorial. The air turned solid and she was thrown back on the curved carved wall. She rolled on her left just in time to avoid the black claymore that came crashing down where her head had been moments ago. Instead, it hit the stone floor, creating little sparks as it made contact. This corpse was definitely stronger that the one she had encountered before. It turned the air solid like the dragon had done in Helgen and it wielded the sword much more like a warrior would than like a barbarian would a club.

She had three bloody gashed and her robes were drenched when the walking dead finally fell, completely lifeless to the ground. Luthien had to wait a good long while until she had enough energy to attempt to close the wounds on the chest, back and thigh. Once she had once more depleted her magicka in tingling golden light, she noticed a finely engraved stone strapped inside the burnt corpse ribcage. If she hadn't burn through the skin she would never had found it hidden has it was. It must have been the Dragon Stone the court wizard had sent her fetch. That manner less boar! He had very nearly got her killed for a piece of pavement! A heavy piece of pavement none the less, she thought was she lifted it in her arms. There was no way she could store it in her back and not crush the fragile potion vial she had hidden there. She would have to carry it in her arms until she reached Whiterun. It would be a terribly long travel!

* * *

A dragon! They were sending her fight a dragon! As an expert no less! She had tried to explain to the Jarl as politely as she could while being so scared that she was not an expert and that she owed her life to a very strong and able man but it didn't change the outcome. She was running along the path toward the western watchtower with a handful of terrified guards and the angry Dunmer warrior she had began to know has Irileth. All along, all she could think about was "I'm going to my doom".

When they arrived, the watchtower was already in ruin and the guard were standing on high alert. Some were fidgeting with their weapon, pacing nervously or screening the sky so sight the dragon. To be honest, they felt it coming before anyone could actually see anything. The low frequency flapping sound was a subtle yet very eloquent cue of the beast arrival. Despite the fear coursing through her veins, Luthien had to admit that he looked smaller than the black monster from Helgen. He had a golden hue to his scales and the sun shun through the delicate membrane of his wings exposing little blood vessels like a stained-glass piece of art. As strange as it might seem, she could swear he was talking to her, taunting her. Even though she could not understand a word it said, she felt as though she new the words: not unlike the foggy memory of a dream.

The guard were shooting arrows at the beast but nothing seemed to penetrate its scaled hide. As if it wasn't already hard enough to bring down, the flying monster kept circling widely around the tower, staying stationary only long enough to unleash a torrent of fire on its assailants, making it increasingly difficult to aim at it. It was a guard that suggested they concentrated their efforts on the wings. Being scale free, it seemed to be the only weak point in the dragon anatomy. Luthien had tried to send a few flames his way, but it never seemed to do any damage. In fact, the scale and even wings seemed to repel the flames when she managed to get close enough to the beast. The attack on its wing proved to be fruitful and, with his wings bleeding and torn, the monster crash-landed in the moor. An unlucky guard made the mistake of getting to close from its powerful jaw and was swallowed whole in front of his companions. Even the irascible Irileth showed fear and disgust as the poor man's screams were ended in a blood freezing "crunch".

It took the death of two other guards before the beast was finally slain. It gave one last pained howl and its heavy horned head fell to the ground, lifting a cloud of dust. A few moments of heavy silence later, cheers started to be heard all over the battlefield. Friends and comrades were slapping each other's backs and looking after the wounded. With its large eyes closed and blood pouring from his wounds the dragon looked a lot less menacing. Taking this opportunity to examine the beast, Luthien approached the fallen monster. Even though she knew it to be dead, she couldn't help to glance nervously at its scaled eyelid as if the dragon was only staging its death to eat her in one gulp as soon as she let her guard down. It was probably her undivided attention to its eyes that prevented her from seeing her opponent's flesh combust as she approached. The silence fell once more on the battle field as everyone watched transfixed the little Dunmer girl, eyes wide and mouth open, being bathed in white light emanating from the burning corpse until there was nothing but gigantic bones left.

It began with whispers of old legends and the whispers became talk until the talk was spread amongst the guard like a fire in a dry field. Luthien could hear noises far away. She could see the man running toward her, checking on her. A tall Nord, who seemed to be the captain of the detachment was talking to her. She could see his lips moving but could not make out the words. She felt a hand being placed on her shoulder and before she could stop herself, she was screaming at the top of her lung in a language she understood deep down yet could not quite translate. As soon as the sound left her lips, she saw the guards being pushed away as if an invisible hand had thrown them away. At that very moment, the talk turned into cheers and surprised exclamations.

"Dragonborn" was all Luthien could make out before she past out.

* * *

She woke up on a cot it a quite, softly lit tiled room. She could hear whispers and running water. It smelt of flowers and salves; a temple, she was in a healing temple. She was trying to sit when a robed woman rushed by her side.

"You gave us quite a scare you know", she said. As she received no answer from the little elf but a surprised face she went on. "We were thinking it had been to much for you to handle". Sensing incomprehension from her patient she began explaining what the guards had told her. " You killed that Dragon outside the city and you absorbed it's soul! You have the Dragonborn power"

"What's a dragon born?" whispered Luthien.

"It's a Norse legend! Of course being from Morrowind you wouldn't have heard of it. The Dragonborn is said to be the ultimate dragon slayer. A strong enough man can maim, even kill a beast as mighty as a dragon, but only the Dragonborn can kill it for good by absorbing its very soul."

"I'm not strong enough to kill a dragon. There has to be a mistake. I barely touched it; the guards and Irileth were the ones to do it."

"Strong enough or not, the Jarl wants to see you. As you can argue, I'll assume you are fit to see him?" said the woman with an amused smile on her face.

* * *

Once more, leave me a comment it would really make my day! =)


	4. Chapter 4

_Warning M parts (if you do no wish to read, skip from the first double line to the next double line)._

* * *

She had been walking for hours toward the tallest mountain in Skyrim. To be truthful, Luthien didn't really know what she expected from her meeting with Jarl Balgruuf but an honorary title and being summoned by reclusive elders was not amongst the thing she had thought possible. Once more she was knee deep in blood freezing snow risking her life. She would have thought living on the rough neighbourhood of the Imperial City Waterfront would have toughen her up and taught her how to say "no" once in a while but she was stuck acting like a little lost puppy. Ralof should have been there, she thought. He would have told the Jarl to use his guards to kill the dragon instead of a lost elf. He would have protected her from the danger of the road. He would have kept her warm at night. His loyalty to Skyrim was a truly remarkable thing, but she had very much hoped to see him again. After all, he had asked her to come back to him.

* * *

Ralof was back in Windhelm; the cold stonewall reminding him he was very far from his sister's thatched house. He stepped in the Jarl's Palace, intending to check on his leader, Ulfric Stormcloak. As usual the man was slouched in his impressive stone throne sending the image he was governing the harsh land of Skyrim without effort. As soon as he saw the Riverwood blond man, the Jarl's deep voice rang in the hall.

"Ah, Ralof of Riverwood you're back with us!"

"My Jarl" said the younger man bowing respectfully, his right fist on his heart. "I'm relieved to see you alive".

Addressing his steward Jorleif he added, "He's a true son of Skyrim this one". Turning to his trusted housecarl he continued. "Galmar, bring me an Officer's Cloak".

After a short while the leader addressed Ralof once more.

"How's the little Ashborn."

The soon-to-be-Officer felt his blood boil at the injurious term. Tightening his jaw he answered, "She's fine my Jarl".

"I didn't know you had a thing for those. Though a small body must have its advantage", the large man said with a salacious tone.

Since when had Ulfric become so disrespectful of the Dunmers! He had never felt the need to knock some respect in his leader before. Actually, he realized, he used to laugh at these jokes before meeting Luthien. Swallowing his anger he politely replied, "I wouldn't know my Jarl"

"You see me relieved!" the man barked, apparently thinking it was a hilarious joke.

With his new blue drape and bear cloak Ralof walked toward Candlehearth Hall. Hopefully, he would find a few large pints of mead and a fine Nord woman to get his mind of the lithe gray body that haunted his dream since the night in Riverwood.

* * *

Obviously, there was more to the officer's cape that the extra warmth it procured. It seemed to attract a few interested looks from the woman in the inn. The waitress Susanna had even whispered a few words in his ear suggesting they grabbed a room for the night. She was everything Luthien was not: tall, Nord, longhaired, blond, and curvy and she was clearly not alarmed by a man's touch. Making his mind, Ralof stood up, grabbing his pint and made his way toward the blond server. Slipping a strong arm around her waist from behind he whispered in her ear, his beard tickling her neck "Still up for that room?"

She casted him a sideway glance and with a little smirk allowed herself to be guided to a room on the first floor.

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind them he was on her, his lips caressing her neck and cleavage.

"Eager eh", said the woman, pulling his newly acquired cloak off his shoulders. The corset was taking too long to untie and he pulled helplessly at it until Susanna slapped his hands away. "You'll break the lace", she said expertly loosing the offending piece of clothing and letting it fall to the ground. Ralof's large hands then pushed the ample blouse off the creamy white shoulders, his mouth once more latching itself to the woman's neck and breasts while he untied the skirt. Moaning wantonly the blond woman unbuckled the leather armour taking a step back to admire the powerful naked chest beneath. The muscled rippled as he lifted her rubbing her underwear covered crotch against his tented leather pants. He nearly threw her on the bed, eliciting a little cry of surprise from the naked waitress, taking a few seconds to remove his pants, boots and underwear. Looking at him from under her eyelash, she bit her lower lip looking at his impressive manhood. He smirked at her, lowering his heavy frame on her while she hastily removed her moist underthings. He wasted very little time in caresses and kisses and after a few rough strokes at her pleasure bead that made her breath catch in her throat he pushed his middle finger between her wet folds. Adding another appendage inside her warm body, he brought a nipple to his mouth and sucked at it, his tongue caressing the perky pink flesh. The waitress's hand were caressing his back and pulling at his hair while she moaned loudly. Her head was extended to the back, slightly turned to right. He pulled his fingers from her wet channel and rubbed roughly her perky nipple. This was when he made his first mistake; he brought his dry hand to her exposed left ear, caressing the soft curve, expecting it to end in a delicate, sensitive pointy tip. Groaning in disappointment he roughly pushed himself inside of her. His thrusts here powerful and harsh yet were apparently pleasing his partner who wrapped her long and powerful legs around his waist pulling him even deeper. Even though the experience was enjoyable, he didn't feel quite satisfied; the skin was too pale, the hair too long, the body too large, the curves too pronounced, the ears too round. Chasing the forming face from his mind, he focused on the woman beneath him putting even more desperation in his thrusts. He rubbed her pleasure bead once more, hoping the tightening of her wall would bring him back but it was hopeless. He could feel himself softening but he could not allow it to happen or his would never hear the end of it. She was everything he should have wished for and yet… He closed his eyes and large moon white, seemingly sightless eyes stared back at him. Resigned, he kissed the woman's neck and shoulder avoiding her full beast and round ears. He slowed his thrusts and tried to ignore the woman disappointed moans. Burying his face in the crook of her neck so she wouldn't see him, eye closed, silently mouthing another's name he conjured Luthien to his mind. She was beautiful, moaning in his arms her gaze never leaving his. He could feel the other woman tightening around him; she was close. He brought his hand once more to her clitoris this time rubbing the sensitive flesh lovingly, alternating circles and light vibrations. He felt her rhythmically clench around his member her loud moans nearly breaking his illusion. He recalled the night Luthien spent in his arms, or more exactly wrapped around him, how she had moaned in her sleep, how her nipples had hardened at his light innocent touch, how her delicate hand grasped his shirt, how she said his name and he felt himself become undone biting the other woman's shoulder to smother his low moan. "Luthien".

* * *

He realized his final mistake when he rolled to the side, freeing the woman of his weight. She was looking at him with a strange grin. "Luthien then… You're an elf lover?" Seeing he was not about to answer her, she added, "They are lithe and agile though. I can't blame you". With the look he was casting her, she could have grown a third arm, it wouldn't have been any different. " Oh, don't act so surprised! One can get bored of Nords. Size isn't everything you know". After a little silence she added, "I'm surprised to find that in a Stormcloak though. It must be hard, I'm sorry." And with that she got dressed and exited the room whispering, "Your secret is safe with me by the way" as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

There was no way she was delving in yet another haunted crypt, tomb or cave without Ralof. The Greybeards would have to wait a little while longer to get the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and the world would have to deal without a fully taught Dragonborn because she had neither a death wish nor an impaired mind: She knew when she was outmatched. Windhelm was far from High Hrothgar but she didn't mind, she would get him and they would fight side by side. She would cast spells, burn their eyes while he would charge, powerful as ever, alternating sword and axe until none was left standing. Until then, she would hide in the shadows, in the trees even in the bushes but she would not fight another dragon, giant, troll or anything larger than a rat alone.

Of course, she arrived during a snowstorm and in that completely white landscape stood the black, steadfast, city of Windhelm. She didn't expect the city of Windhelm to be so rundown. The old black stone blocs were dirty; some missing; others seemed ready to fall yet it was quite an impressive sight. She was nearly frozen to the bone, her nose was runny and she hadn't had a decent meal in three days so when she heard insults being proffered at a Dunmer woman she saw red.

"I don't like the way you talk big oaf" she screamed at him in her more menacing voice.

The Nord man simply scoffed and turned away. "Hey I'm talking to you Ice Brain!" she continued, deciding the injurious terms the warrior woman, Ria, had used were appropriate.

"You know Ashborn, I wouldn't mind fighting you but you're too small, I would crunch you."

"It would be a good riddance", added another man. " Damn imperial spies!"

A woman joined the show "Come on, smack her around and be done with it!"

Suddenly, Luthien wasn't sure she had made the right move. If the three turned against her, she would indeed be smacked around; she needed to fight one on one to stand a chance.

"Here's the deal", said the Nord wearing the white hat, "You win, I'll change my talk. I win, … ha-ha… you die!"

"Deal" answered Luthien, avoiding long speeches to keep her voice from wavering. The man's grin faltered for a second in surprise. "No weapon, no fancy magiks, Elf".

She nodded; he placed his tankard on the frozen ground and stood up, rolling his large shoulders. A small crowd had gathered around them, Nords cheering loudly, forming a tight circle around the two opponents and three dark elves that stood silent a few meters away from the circle.

Luthien tried to gage her opponent but he didn't give her the opportunity to do so. He charged, bellowing a war cry that froze her blood even more then the snow. She was feeling like she did in Helgen, except Ralof was not here for her. She was brought back to reality by a huge fist connecting with her cheek. Even with the cold air, she could feel the tissues swelling. She could clearly not hope to overpower him, but maybe she could out run him. The circle was too small to allow her to really run but she could avoid his punches and maybe, maybe he would tire. She had won a few street fights like this when she was younger except the opponents were a lot smaller. She crouched, bowing her head forward to avoid another punch to the face and rolled on her side to force the man to turn. He was slower than expected, probably due to the mead he had been ingesting a few minutes earlier but he was still quite dangerous. She jabbed him in the ribs before he could attempt anything and rolled again. She stood quite rapidly behind his back and sent him an elbow to the kidney before crouching again. The man was now furious and the crowd was booing and shouting even louder than before. The elf caught a strong fist to the stomach and a powerful push to the chest that had her flat on her back before she could place another punch. Crawling back up while the man was roaring to the crowd, lifting his muscled arms in the air to earn more cheers, she jumped on his back, knocking him on the head a few times without much results before being thrown once more on the ground. Too knocked out to lift herself up, she saw the man approach and place his boot on her throat, crushing her trachea and cutting her air supply. She tried to fight the pressure, pushing desperately against the sole of the boot, kicking the ground with all her might but nothing did it. She could feel her vision blurring and her hands getting numb. He was not joking when he had said she would die if he won; He clearly had no intention of letting her go. She didn't have enough air to enunciate a spell but she could maybe croak one or two syllable. Drawing the last of her air, she barely whispered "FUS RO".

The crowd fell silent as she stood up massaging her sore throat. The man she had been fighting looked at her with the utmost fear displayed on his face.

"You were trying to kill me!" Luthien coughed with a wince.

"Please" said the man, "I didn't know", he pleaded, kneeling.

Whispers of old legends cold be heard in the crowd, "Dragonborn" was said a few times in hushed tones before the people scurried back to their houses leaving Luthien alone with the defeated man.

"Please don't kill me, I'll change my talk I promise, please Dragonborn".

The man was nearly crying, whimpering as she walked closer to him. Straitening the best she could, the little elf took her more important air and declared, "I will spare you this time, but if I hear anything: a complaint, a rumour, a whisper: I will find you". And with that she turned her back to him and walked briskly toward the stairs, which, she hoped, led to the palace. When she was out of sight, she started running, hoping the man had not changed his mind. Looking over her shoulder, she was relieved to see no one but a beggar and two guards.

* * *

"You must be incredibly foolish to approach a Jarl without summon", said the fur covered blond man. "State your business".

To be quite honest with herself, she was a bit intimidated by the man and forming a complete answer took her more time than the bear-man beside the throne deemed acceptable. He had placed a huge metal paw on the handle of his battle-axe and was ready to drive his Jarl's nuisance through the door when the Jarl spoke again.

"Do I know you?"

Nodding nervously, Luthien swallowed and began to talk.

"We met at Helgen I believe my Jarl", she said keeping her head bow in a failed attempt to hide the bruise on her face. "I escaped with the help of one of you man, Ralof. He lives in Riverwood, about that tall" she added holding her hand a head and a half above her head.

"Yes, I know Ralof of Riverwood", answered the Jarl in a bored tone. "Now what do you want".

Honestly, the Ulfric was impressed with himself; he had not yet sent the tiny elf flying across the room nor beheaded her for walking unannounced in his palace. He must have skipped a part of her speech, because she seemed to be waiting for his reply. Turning to Galmar he lifted an eyebrow. "She wants to find the man", answered the bear-man to his Jarl silent inquiry.

"You are wasting my time Elf. I have a country to rule, a war to wage!" said the Jarl, and then turning to Galmar, "Remove her from my sight".

The older man was about to lift her bodily when she started speaking very quickly in a nearly panicked tone.

"You don't understand, please. The Greybeards want me to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller but I can't do it alone. I need Ralof".

At the mention of the old hermits, Jarl Ulfric lazily lifted a hand, interrupting Galmar's movement. "What business do you have with the Greybeards?" He had heard the rumours like everyone else, that a Dragonborn had appeared in their time of need, but the woman in front of him was and elf, an Ashborn nonetheless.

"They say I'm Dragonborn my Jarl".

* * *

After that declaration, the Jarl and his housecarl, the bear-man known as Galmar had been more than happy to direct her to Candlehearth Hall where Ralof was last seen. As an officer he had a room in the palace, on the Jarl's wing, but he seemed to prefer to spend his evening in a livelier place. The Inn reminded Luthien of Riverwood, she thought it was probably the reason her friend spent so much time there. The rude man she had shouted to submission was there, drinking and boasting about divers feats of arms. His stories were interrupted when he saw her as he nearly dropped his tankard and coughed up his beverage. After that, his companions mocked him for the rest of the evening. "A punishment well deserved", thought Luthien as she scoped the room for the tall blond man.

She found him at the back of the inn on the second floor and was about to call him when a beautiful Nord woman walked to him, circling his waist with her arm, and whispered in his ear. Obviously, she liked what he heard because he smiled to her and whispered back with a grin. Luthien felt a heavy weight settle in her ribcage yet she decided to walk toward him anyway. Obviously, the woman was a better match for a Nord man than she, a Dunmer, was. The woman was tall, beautiful, blond haired, she looked strong and she didn't flinch every time he touched her. Maybe she wouldn't kiss him like she had hoped and suddenly, she felt very foolish for ever hoping to. Hopefully, he would still accept to go dungeon delving with her.

"Ralof" she spoke softly, barely covering the bard's music.

He heard her the second time and, recognizing her accent, turned around with a large smile on his face.

"Luthien, my friend! What brings you to Windhelm?"

Hearing the name "Luthien" the woman who was holding Ralof looked the little elf up and down before casting a lopsided smile to the blond man, whispering once more in his ear and taking her leave.

The man's expression darkened immediately when he noticed the angry violet mark on the delicate gray face. "Who did this to you? What happened? Are you in trouble?" he blurted.

The small woman nodded, a tear of exertion rolling down her injured cheek soon followed by many others as the strong Nord grabbed her in a nearly bone-crushing yet reassuring hug. He whispered soothing words in her ear, not caring for on moment about the comments that would most likely erupt in the room after such a public display of affection for a dark elf.

"Here, let me get you something to eat then we can talk in my room. Alright?" he said in a concerned tone.

"Thanks Ralof" she whispered, letting go of his armour and blue cloak so they could walk away.

* * *

After she had ingested a large bowl of meat stew and half a loaf of bread, Ralof started to ask more questions. He finally learned that his little gray friend was the new Dragonborn the whole province was talking about. Jarl Balgruuf had sent her to Bleak Falls Barrow where she had risked her life for a stone tablet only to be immediately sent to slay a dragon. She had then discovered that she was Dragonborn when the beast's carcass caught fire and shot a tingling white light through her. She had even shouted at the guards before she passed out. She had later been declared Thane of Whiterun and reached High Hrothgar, after climbing the famous 7000 steps, where she had met the Greybeards, for whom she had a lot of respect, and learned new dragon words she called Shouts. Ralof had to patiently remind her by moment that he could not understand Dunmeri dialect which she used through out her story when she got a bit too excited or wanted to express something she could not quite translate. She exposed her plan to take him as a companion to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller in what she described as "yet another haunted hole". They talked like this for quite some time until she could no longer keep her eyes open at which point he tucked her in his bed and settled himself on a pile of fur beside the fire.

He woke up to scared whimpers and trashing sounds. Quite frankly, it was a miracle, he thought, that she had not yet been murdered in her sleep during her travels. Her screams probably scared small animal, but trolls and highwayman would have been the kind to prey upon her. Sitting at her side, he rubbed her back until she calmed a bit, then went back to sleep. Before long, he was once more woken up by a terrified scream. She was livid in the bed, eyes wide open, tears falling freely on her robes.

"Sovengard" she kept whimpering. "I will meet him again in Sovengard". Like he had done in Riverwood, he held her close to him, cradled against his large chest. Rocking back and forth, he whispered soothing phrases in her ear, not completely certain she could really hear them but feeling her relaxing none the less.

A few moments later, Jarl Ulfric was barging in the room, sword drawn.

"What's that ruckus Ralof?"

" She had a nightmare my Jarl", whispered the younger Nord, caressing his friend's soft hair.

As soon as the Jarl saw who "she" was he sheathed his weapon and softly stated, "I'll have Wuunferth brew her a sleep potion and Jorleif prepare a room for her. The Dragonborn deserves better than an officer's bed". He said that last bit looking pointedly at Ralof who was too busy calming the young woman to see the jealousy, disgust and envy in his leader's eyes.

* * *

Jarl Ulfric was known neither for his patience nor for his tact but for his impressive ability to get what he wanted. He had wanted to claim Markarth for the Nords and he had done so, exiling a whole people. He had wanted the throne and taken it, creating mayhem in the country at the same occasion, but he didn't really care. Now, he wanted to take Skyrim as her High King, which meant driving back the Imperial forces and getting the people support. Unfortunately, he was not the kind of men who gave favours and hosted banquets to form new alliances; he was the kind who dictated by force.

He had begun forming a plan ever since he had heard about the Dragonborn. He needed him as an ally to rally the people. With the mythical figure in his pocket, he could easily bargain protection against dragon attacks to villages in exchange for their allegiance and fresh men for his army. He would grant the Dragonborn a high post of command in his army and any other privileges the man would deem necessary to gain his trust and arm. Unfortunately for him, the Gods seemed to play tricks with him. The Dragonborn was not who he had expected: a strong son of Skyrim, used to fight and command. In fact, she was everything he despised: an elf, Ashborn none the less, weak and frail looking, mage from the look of her robes and not even fluent in the beautiful Norse tongue. Despite his powerful hate of the Mer, Ulfric was no fool; he knew that nothing would insure his supremacy as the Dragonborn. This was why, instead of having the frail Dunmer thrown back in the streets for annoying him that morning and barging uninvited in his palace, he had swallowed his pride and answered her questions politely. He had pondered over his plan, trying to adapt it to the new variable but it seemed nearly impossible. There was no way the woman could be named Stormcloak Officer; she probably couldn't even hold a sword, let alone command his troops.

He had begrudgingly come to the conclusion that he would need to form another kind of alliance with her. The idea repulsed him to no end but Skyrim was worth the sacrifice. Had he had a son, the problem would have been lesser, but he had none which meant he would have to marry the Mer himself to insure his dominance over her.

Seeing her with Ralof that night had brought even more problems to his already troubled mind. The man was a good officer, very dedicated to the cause. He wouldn't, normally, have interfered with his personal tastes but the times were everything but normal. He would have to relocate the man to a further region, possibly near Dawnstar, to prevent him from claiming the Dragonborn as his own. He would write his marching orders in the morrow.

* * *

She woke up to the sound of metal clanking and fabric rustling. From her half opened eyes, she could see Ralof strapping his armour. He was obviously trying to be as noiseless as possible, but a chain mail was nearly impossible to put on without noise or help.

"Good morning Ralof" said Luthien softly, her voice hoarse from sleep.

"Morning! You sleep like a bear little one", he said joking. "It's almost noon".

"It's hard to sleep on the road… with the nightmares and everything", she answered lowering her eyes in shame. "Let me help you with that"

As always, she was very eager to help but completely ignorant of the facts. Ralof had to point her to every clasp and belt buckle for her to tie them up correctly. It ended up taking twice as much time as it would normally have taken him to get dressed but he didn't really mind. He had been postponing his departure as much as he could despite Ulfric insistence that he left at once. The man from Riverwood didn't want to leave without first saying goodbye to the lovely elf yet he could not bring himself to wake her up; she looked so comfortable, peaceful even, rolled in the furs and linen of his bed. It was pleasant to see her smile like this: her mind free of the dragon menace and nightmares.

They were packing his back in a comfortable silence when he said, "Ulfric denied my request… He gave me new marching orders. I'm sorry Luthien." He felt his heart clench when her smile faded, worry lines taking its place.

"Can't you come with me first to get the Horn?" she asked pleadingly.

"I can't Luthien. They need me there urgently. The commanding officer died in an ambush two days ago…"

"Where will you go then?"

"Dawnstar, it's about a three days on foot from Windhelm", he told her, avoiding her eyes. "Lots of snow and ice. Very little sun".

* * *

They made their way toward the palace door in silence. Luthien had insisted on carrying the smaller travel bag, stating that she needed the exercise until Ralof allowed her to. They were hugging when the Jarl's powerful voice rang through the hall, "Dragonborn, a word with you, please". At the summon, she begrudgingly loosen her hold on Ralof's armour, but the man simply would not relinquish his hold on her. "Promise me to be careful Luthien", he whispered in her ear. "I will", she answered him in hushed tones. "You do the same? As soon as I have the Horn I'll come to see you in Dawnstar". She was about to go and see the Jarl when Ralof grabbed her hand, bringing her close to him once more. Not relishing his grip, he unclasped the little amulet he wore around his neck and placed it in Luthien's delicate hand.

"It's an amulet of Talos", said the man closing her hand around it. "Gerdur gave it to me when I enlisted. It will protect you as it protected me".

"Thanks", answered the Dunmer. "Will you be safe without it?" she asked, a little nervous.

"Of course little one! I have my sword and my axe!" he replied with a large cheerful smile.

She placed a light kiss on his cheek, standing on her tiptoes to reach him, they hugged on last time and he disappeared through the heavy door.

* * *

Resigned, Luthien made her way to the Jarl's throne. The man smiled as she approached and motioned for an armoured man who had been standing in the shadows to step forward. He was smaller in built than Ralof and was not wearing Stormcloak armour. Instead, he had an impressive mix of furs and steel plates like Farkas in Whiterun strapped on him. Unlike many Nords, he had red hair and brown eyes. Ulfric introduced him as Calder. Apparently, he would be travelling with her until she deemed it safe to travel alone. She was about to take her leave and go pack her meagre possessions but the Jarl insisted she stayed at least until the morrow; a banquet had been organised in her honour.

"My Jarl, I…" she said stunned. The blond man immediately interrupted her, a large smile on his face.

"We are blessed to have you amongst us Dragonborn. Allow us to express our gratitude"

"You are most kind, my Jarl", answered the young elf, bowing politely.

With Ralof out of the way and his trusted Calder to keep an eye on her, his plan was in motion.

* * *

_Please, let me know what you think =D I love comments and they keep me writing ;P_


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